A sixteen year old girl, of course
by RisingFire
Summary: "Think, Mrs Lestrange- what is the best present you could buy a sixteen year old boy?"As he spoke, Borgin made his way over to the door. "I don't know, what?" "Why," he announced, throwing the door open, and Bellatrix let out a sound of simultaneous shock and approval. "A sixteen year old girl, of course!"


**A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL, OF COURSE**

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

Bellatrix Lestrange was late. Incredibly late. Several weeks late, in fact. Punctuality was never her strong point.

She'd missed her nephew's birthday. Admittedly, she had missed his birthday for the last seven years, but this one was actually an important one. Draco was turning (or rather, had turned several weeks ago) sixteen. As such, Bellatrix felt she owed him a present, and a good one, at that.

She pondered this as she made her way through the shadows of Knockturn Alley, cloak pulled high over her head so that all an onlooker would see were a few of her rogue curls. It was Knockturn Alley, and anyone else on the street had probably committed a few crimes too, but it paid to be cautious. Bellatrix was insane, but not stupid, and, after all, there was a rather large bounty on her head at the moment.

Of course, had anyone tried to apprehend her, they would have ended up with their skin turned inside out, but she would have preferred not to make a scene. She had errands to run, which was more difficult if half of Knockturn Alley was in pieces.

Beneath the hood of her cloak, Bellatrix made a face as one of her booted feet landed in a puddle. Bollocks. The suede might not survive that.

It began to drizzle again just as she reached the shop she was searching for. No bell chimed invitingly as she swung the door open. No assistant rushed to greet her. Instead she found herself stepping through a maze of dusty, decrepit furniture.

"Service!" she snapped, reaching the empty counter. She ignored the bell on the countertop and instead began using her wand to break the glass ornaments around it as loudly as possible until someone appeared to serve her.

A small, wrinkled man climbed out of a cupboard behind her, turning around to lock it. She didn't flinch, but stopped breaking things.

"Excuse me, Miss, but those are quite expensive-" the man cut himself off as Bellatrix turned around, lowering her hood dramatically. "Mrs Lestrange!"

"Please, Borgin. I'm a Black, you know that cost isn't an issue to me."

Carefully, Borgin walked around her to the counter. "Excuse my..." he paused, searching for the right words to keep her happy. Placating any of the Black sisters, particularly this one, was never an easy thing to do. "...audacity. But I was under the impression that you were not currently able to access your vault-"

"I will not excuse it, actually," Bellatrix replied casually, picking up one of the four remaining glass ornaments and dropping it onto the floor. It made a quiet whistling noise as it fell, and Bellatrix allowed herself a smile, although somehow it did not seem particularly happy. "You have three more of these priceless ornaments left," she said, fixing Borgin with a cold stare. "If I break all of them, I shall have to start breaking something a little more valuable to you. Perhaps your legs?"

Borgin said nothing, but his skin turned a little paler, and his left hand, which still held the key to the cupboard, shook a little. He dropped the key into a fold of his robes (presumably into a pocket, although you never can tell with robes).

"Do you understand, Mr Borgin?" Bellatrix asked, and her eyes narrowed a little further. She put her wand down on the counter and dragged a fingernail over the next ornament, a tiny, delicate, glass fairy, which seemed to shudder under her touch.

"I understand, Mrs Lestrange. What can I help you with?"

"I am looking for a birthday present."

"A birthday present?" Borgin tried to avoid revealing his surprise. Bellatrix was not the sort of person to buy anyone a present. "May I ask what you had in mind?"

"Why, I had no idea," Bellatrix said, tapping the fairy's wing with the same fingernail. A slight crack appeared, and Borgin twitched a little. "That's why I came to you."

"I'm sure I can find something. Who is it for?"

"My nephew. I'm sure you've met him. Lucius's son."

Borgin looked blank.

"You know, tall, thin, same ugly hair as his father. Stupid name."

"Ah... Draco, yes?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"His father brought him in here once. He tried to play with everything, including several things which would have killed him very easily."

"Sounds like the brat. It's his birthday. Or rather, it was his birthday. Nearly two months ago."

"Ah. So you are looking for something impressive, then?"

"Why would I want anything less than impressive?"

Borgin declined to answer, eyeing the growing crack in the fairy's wing. Instead, he changed the subject. "How old is he?"

"Sixteen, I believe."

"Sixteen. An important one."

"Yes."

"What does he like?"

"How should I know?" Bellatrix felt her impatience beginning to grow again. She was expected at the Mansion with her present in a few minutes. "He's not my son."

Borgin thought for a moment, before reaching into the display cabinet below the counter. "How about this?" He brought out what looked to be some kind of shrivelled hand. "I believe the boy was interested in this the last time he was here... The Hand of Glory. The friend of thieves and tricksters-"

"You think my family to be thieves?" Bellatrix's eyes flashed, and in one motion she twisted the wings from the glass fairy's back. With another quick, startling motion, she threw the ornament against the wall behind Borgin.

"No, of course not," Borgin backtracked, hurriedly stashing the hand back in the cabinet, "I was merely suggesting-"

"Well, don't merely suggest," Bellatrix sneered.

"My apologies." The man took a second again. Then he moved over to a cushion on in the window of the shop, on which rested an ornate necklace. "This, my lady, perhaps?"

"What would Draco want with jewellery?" Bellatrix reached out to touch the necklace, but Borgin batted her hand away.

"No! I must insist that you do not touch the necklace- it can kill with just a single-"

There was another crash, as a cumbersome hippopotamus-shaped paperweight hit the wall. "You would have me _kill_ my nephew with his birthday present?" Bellatrix shrieked, and Borgin cowered.

"No! I only- he was looking at it- it is interesting, a curiosity-"

"_I don't find it very curious!_"

"Of course! I'm sorry- I apologise-"

"What else do you have?" Bellatrix eyed a large clock which was fixed to the door behind the counter. The long hand ticked round the clock's face, edging closer to the twelve. She was nearly late.

"The, uh, the cupboard, perhaps? It is a Vanishing Cabinet, although it needs working on, but-"

"I don't have time to wait for you to fix a broken cupboard, I need it now!" Bellatrix snapped, throwing the final ornament at the clock on the door. Borgin began to sweat slightly.

Suddenly, a muffled yell arose from behind the door. Somebody was shouting, although the words could not be made out by either Borgin or Bellatrix.

"What," Bellatrix hissed icily, "Is that?"

Borgin declined to answer for a moment, as a smirk spread across his warped face. "Why, Mrs Lestrange, I believe _that _could be the perfect present for your dear Master Draco."

Bellatrix quirked an eyebrow. "Then fetch it, quickly- but what _is _it?"

"Think, Mrs Lestrange- what is the best present you could buy a sixteen year old boy?"As he spoke, Borgin made his way over to the door, pulling a different key from some hidden pocket of his robes.

Bellatrix was evidently impatient at his game playing, and glowered at him, picking up her wand and twirling it experimentally with one hand. "I don't know, what?"

Mr Borgin twisted the key in the lock, and suddenly the wail came again.

"Why," he announced, throwing the door open, and Bellatrix let out a sound of simultaneous shock and approval as she caught sight of the source of the noise. "A sixteen year old girl, of course!"

The door crashed against the wall and all of a sudden the words became quite clear. There, chained to a radiator, screaming bloody fury, crouched a girl, her brown hair a knotted mess around her face, and a kind of feral, wild anger in her eyes.

Bellatrix let out a cackle of laughter as the girl snarled at her from the floor.

The girl was Hermione Granger.

* * *

"Why, Bellatrix, my dear sister... wherever did you get her?"

Narcissa Malfoy stared down at the girl. Her pale face was not shocked, nor angry. If anything, she appeared a little bemused, but it was hard to tell.

"Where do you think? Borgins."

"Borgin &amp; Burkes have supplied us with many rarities, Bellatrix," her sister said, fiddling with a lock of long, blonde hair, "But I didn't think he was quite at the point of selling humans yet."

"Oh, Narcissa, he didn't sell it to me," Bellatrix replied.

Narcissa crinkled her nose slightly. It was rude to discuss the price of presents.

"No," Bellatrix continued, "It was free. A bargain, I would say! In fact, Mr Borgin seemed rather keen to be rid of the creature. I can't imagine why," she added dryly, as the girl continued to glare up at her coldly. "It is most charming, after all."

She bent down to inspect her a little more closely, and the girl spat at her violently. The room was silent, but for the tiny sound of saliva hitting skin. Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, and she straightened up. "You see what I mean, Cissy? Delightful. Draco will be most impressed."

"Yes." Narcissa frowned a little as she watched her sister take her wand from her robes and press it into the girl's cheek.

"Speaking of the boy, where is he?" Bellatrix asked, her mouth stretching out into a thin line. There was a slight pop to the word 'boy', as if the word was unpleasant to keep in her mouth for too long. "I expected him to want to see his Auntie Bella."

"He's out with Pansy. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"Pansy Parkinson? And dear Draco?" Bellatrix arched an eyebrow disapprovingly. "An odd choice. From what I've heard, Pansy Parkinson is rather... friendly with the boys."

"Perhaps that's why he likes her," Narcissa replied

Bellatrix began to poke the girl with her foot, as one might poke a scrap of rubbish on the ground in an attempt to identify it.

"Surely you should be aiming a little higher? A Carrow girl, perhaps? Or one of the Greengrass sisters?"

"Whilst we appreciate your input," Narcissa said, a little icily, "We weren't planning on marrying Draco off just yet, and when we do, it shan't be any of your business, Bellatrix!"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Always so _dramatic, _Cissy. I was just suggesting-"

"We don't need your suggestions."

The two sisters met eyes. Bellatrix licked her lips, once, then began to speak again. "I-"

She was interrupted by a great clatter as a large wooden bookshelf shook, dislodging several large tomes. The cause of the disruption was Hermione, who had shuffled backwards, away from Bellatrix, into the bookshelf.

"Stop that, girl," Bellatrix said. "We can't have Draco's birthday present broken before he's even had a look at it."

Bellatrix laughed at her own joke, and looked at Narcissa, expecting a similar reaction. Then, suddenly, she let out a yell, as one of the large tomes was thrown at her leg. Hermione had had enough.

"_I am not a birthday present! I am a human being and-"_

They were the first words she'd spoken in days, other than the furious screaming which she seemed to have been doing a lot of. They were hoarse and raw and croaky, and they cut through the drawing room of the manner roughly, like ripping a piece of paper in half. Her words were cut off by Bellatrix's hand across her mouth, fingernails digging into her chin.

Then, Bellatrix began to laugh.

"Do you really think," she said, amused in the way a cat might by amused by taunting its prey, "That you are in a position to be saying anything, Mudblood? Do you really think that you may decide what you may or may not be?"

The atmosphere within the drawing room was chilly. The surreal arguments over the romantic intentions of the Malfoy heir were years ago. Now it was just Hermione, alone in a room with at least one maniac. She realised this now: the Malfoys were not a family, though they had been bickering like one just a minute before. No, the Malfoys were a pack of wild dogs, a murder of wicked crows, and here she sat in front of them, a timid, ineffectual little mouse.

Hermione felt afraid. She felt the cloying terror of utter helplessness in the back of her throat.

"Bellatrix," Narcissa said carefully, curling a strand of hair around one slim finger, "Perhaps we should put her somewhere else, out of the way."

Bellatrix paused a moment, before releasing the girl's chin. "Yes. It should be a surprise for Draco. Draco loves surprises."

Narcissa clicked her fingers, and a female Elf appeared, a dirty bed sheet wrapped around her like a toga.

"Dolly. Take this girl to Draco's room. Fix her up a little bit."

"Mistress?"

"She is to be a present for him. Make her look nice. And make sure she can't escape."

The House Elf looked uncertain. In her twenty two years of life, she had never been asked to present a person as a present before, and she was unsure of how best to proceed.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, the pinched the Elf's ear. Dolly suppressed a cry. "Put a bow on her head, Elf. Wrap her up nicely," Bellatrix smiled, a spiky curve against the point of her chin.

The Elf nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

* * *

Elves do not quite understand the concept of a joke.

Hermione had experienced the literal nature of an elf before, but never had it caused her to be made to look quite so ridiculous.

"Stop moving, girl!" The Elf tutted. Dolly had never been given a harder present to wrap.

"I don't... want... to be... wrapped up!" Hermione protested, flailing her arms. She hated to hurt the innocent creature, but she hated even more to be wrapped in silver foil, and to have a bow stuck to her forehead.

"Shush!" The Elf clicked her bony fingers, exasperated, and Hermione found herself unable to move. "Better," said Dolly, as she continued to stick foil to her.

Hermione considered her fate. _Brightest witch of my age, my arse,_ she thought, regretting immensely the events which had led to this moment. She would be lucky to get out of this one alive. Her only blessing was that Lucius Malfoy was locked up still, or else she doubted she'd still be breathing.

It was all Ron's fault, she concluded, as Dolly tried to pat down her hair. Unwisely, the Elf had given her a bath, and now her hair was frizzing about her head.

It was all Ron's fault. He was the one who'd talked her into visiting the twins at their new shop in Diagon Alley. He was the one who'd run off to chat up some American girl in the ice cream parlour. He was the reason she'd stormed off into Knockturn Alley, straight into the hands of the creepy wizard with one eye and no hair. And he was the reason she was being manhandled onto Draco Malfoy's bed by an Elf who didn't know better.

How the Hell was she meant to get out of this one?

Escape seemed pretty out of reach, what with no wand, no shoes, no idea of where she was, and with the fact that she was currently immobilised. She doubted anyone had even realised she'd gone yet.

Hermione tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about how long it would take to send out a search party, or if they'd even send a search party out for her, or if anyone would even care-

Dolly stepped back from the bed to admire her handiwork.

"Dolly will undo the spell if Miss promises not to move. Does Miss understand?"

Hermione didn't move to answer, being incapacitated, but Dolly seemed not to care. The Elf clicked her fingers again and Hermione felt the tightness of her body melt away. It was replaced by the disconcerting feeling of being covered from neck to toe in silver foil. This all seemed rather extravagant for a birthday present. God knows she'd never received the helpless form of her arch-enemy as a present, not even for her sixteenth. Her parents had just given her some fancy earrings.

"Dolly will leave now. Miss will stay here."

The Elf clicked her fingers once more, and there was the sound of a key turning in a lock. Then she was gone, and Hermione was alone.

As soon as the Elf disappeared, she began to tear at her wrappings. This involved a lot of undignified squirming and more than a few frustrated grunts. After a few minutes, only the bow remained. No matter how she pulled at it, it stayed put- the Elf must have used some kind of sticking charm on it. Hermione cursed her bad luck.

At least nobody in this deranged house had taken her clothes. She wouldn't have put it past them. After all, they had kidnapped a teenager to give to their son.

What were they expecting her to do? Lie down and take it? Let herself be ordered around by a bigoted prick with many deep, dark, twisted desires?

What if they wanted her to be some kind of slave? What kind of horrid things could they make her do? What if this was all part of some weird Death Eater coming-of-age initiation ritual?

Would Malfoy hurt her?

Would he beat her or torture her for his own sick pleasure?

Would he do other things, things that her sensible, pure mind didn't want to even consider?

It dawned on her just how much trouble she was in. It wasn't like she'd been kidnapped by Fred and George (who were mischievous, sure, but not evil) or Crabbe and Goyle (who were probably too thick to know what to do with her) or one of Voldemort's minions (who wouldn't risk doing anything to her for fear of angering Dumbledore). She was at the mercy of Bellatrix Lestrange – who wouldn't hesitate to use an Unforgivable on her – and the Malfoys, who she dared not speculate about.

Her panic was beginning to grow. She looked about the room for something to use as a weapon. The lamp on the bedside table? She tried to lift it up. No, that was far too heavy. The curtain rod? She gave it an experimental tug, but it didn't budge.

Maybe she could hide in the wardrobe – no, that was stupid, she couldn't hide in Malfoy's own bedroom –

She turned towards the door, startled, at the sound of muffled voices from outside the room. She couldn't quite make out the words...

"...ah dumph shink I've emmer feed so - Honestly, Draco..."

Who was that? Parkinson? The voices were becoming clearer. They were getting nearer.

"...I know...I don't know what Aunt Bella was thinking, going off like that at you..."

The handle of the door began to turn. There was a noise of confusion on the other side of the door, and she remembered that it was still locked. She had maybe ten seconds before the House Elf was called, and it was unlocked.

She looked around the room.

Nine...Eight...Seven...

In her desperation, she grabbed the heaviest-looking book she could find on the shelf by the door.

Four...Three...Two...

There was the unmistakable sound of a bolt being slid across, and the handle began to turn again.

She positioned the book in her hand, ready to throw. Her only advantage was the element of surprise.

The door opened.

With a Gryffindor war cry, she ran at the two intruders. She noted, briefly, that it was Malfoy, and, yes, Pansy Parkinson, and that they were holding hands, before she was thrown back against the wall by the unmistakably powerful push of wandless magic.

"The bad girl will not harm Master Draco with her book!"

Hermione squirmed against the wall, her toes a foot above the ground. She was steadily becoming less and less fond of House-Elves - perhaps she should look into Centaur Rights instead, when she got out of here. If she got out of here, that is.

There was a pause. Draco and Pansy stood in the doorway, behind Dolly the House Elf, and behind them she could see Narcissa and Bellatrix watching from the corridor.

Several voices began to talk at once.

"Mudblood? _What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?"_

"Draco? Whythe hell is the_ Mudblood _in_ your _bedroom_?"_

"Draco! Don't you like your present from Bellatrix?"

"Draco? Don't you like my birthday present?"

"_The bad girl will stop kicking and scuffing the wall paper with her feet!"_

Hermione stopped struggling, suddenly unable to move her legs. She decided that there really was nothing she could do from this point onwards, and that maybe it was best to just let it play out.

In the corridor, Bellatrix watched Draco's expression intently. He had better be pleased with her gift – she'd gone to a lot of trouble to get it, and it hadn't been easy to transport at all. Briefly, Bellatrix wondered if she'd made a mistake, judging by the horror on her nephew's face. _No_, she thought, _that can't be right. What better present could a boy ask for?_

Next to her, Narcissa sighed. She could feel a migraine coming on. If only Lucius were here. He'd kill the girl and have done with it, Bellatrix's hurt feelings be damned. Her head began to pound, and she raised a limp hand to her temple.

Hermione continued to glare at the entrance to the bedroom. In her opinion, everyone here was an enemy.

She felt that the bow on her forehead somewhat diminished the effect she was going for.

"Draco," Bellatrix cried, overwhelmed by emotion, "Isn't this just the best birthday ever? Aren't I just your favourite Aunt?"

Draco looked at her. Then he looked back at the girl pinned to his bedroom wall. Then he looked back at his Aunt.

A moment.

Then: "_WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING IN MY BEDROOM?"_

* * *

_AN/_

_Not really sure what's happening here. Not sure if this is meant to be funny or serious. Not sure if I'll manage to finish it at all. Not sure if anyone will like it. It's been a while since I wrote anything on here._

_It's based on a line from a TV show, but I can't remember what show. _

RisingFire


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